


Drunken Berks of Dragon Riders

by OrdinaryMortal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryMortal/pseuds/OrdinaryMortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on Facebook: imagine Charlie Weasley trying to persuade his friends to help him move Norbert."</p><p>WELL OK THEN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Berks of Dragon Riders

'Ok', said Charlie, wiping the beer froth from his mouth as he put the massive hollowed out horn down decisively. 'Guys, I've had a letter from my littlest brother. You know the insane gamekeeper at my old school? Turns out, he won a bloody dragon egg in a bet, and got it to hatch successfully. Only problem is, it's a dragon. In a school full of meals on feet. He wants to know what they should do."

"Bloody hell, it's gonna be like Lithuania all over again" gasped Helga, who was decidedly a bit unsteady on her feet. Well, they had all been drinking steadily since they came off shift, and bless him, but Sven could not hold his fire mead and was currently burbling about little blue dragons in the fire.

"I think", said Mitch, finger wavering as he held it up to emphasis his point, "I think, they should do. Something. Because dragons. Big dragons."

They waited a bit, but that seemed to be the end of that thought, as Mitch grinned in happy satisfaction at having made his point

"We should go get it!" proclaimed Sven, tearing his attention away from the invisible blue mead dragons.

Charlie got the giggles. Merlin, but he was such a girlie drunk, with the giggling and the hugs and the spouting random bits of poetry, but the idea of Sven trying to fly on a broomstick while cuddling a baby dragon would make Snape himself giggle, and wouldn't everyone just die if that happened?

Flora propped him back up where he had started to list to one side. "Actually, that might not be a bad idea." she mused. "You know what our fucking Ministry is like; if they find out about this they'll order the dragon to be destroyed and your Haggy friend would lose his job, no question. We could totally do this, guys. We're off shift for four days, none of us are in the infirmary for once, we have that crate from the baby welsh green just taking up space out back..."

Flora was the sane one, the planner. She could also, and often had, drunk them under the table while beating them at poker with unnerving skill, so if she was actually giving thought to this crazy idea...

"I've got a friend", said Mitch, in the ponderous manner of someone trying to demonstrate how sober they are. "In Wales. At the reserve. Good man. We could take him there, no-one would notice another baby dragon turning up at a dragon reserve. It's not like they have to send in numbers each month. They could totally fudge the date of hatching, no problem, for the annual report. Prolly do it all the time."

"Wouldn't be hard" agreed Helga. "Just ask Wilf for a portkey so we can go meet your family, we'll nick the crate and its sling, go to the school at night, nab the dragon, stick it in the crate, sling it in the carry cradle, fly it to Wales, drop it off with your mate, job done, off to the Leaky for a curry, s'all good."

"So all we've got to do is get Ron and whoever he can rope in to help, to get the dragon off of the half-giant, who probably wants to keep it for a pet, knowing him; smuggle it under their uniform past the rabid janitor and his demented cat, avoid the nastiest man on the planet trying to catch people outside their dorms, and cart it upstairs to the highest tower so we can swoop in and nab it without any of the highly paranoid teachers and the head of the ICW noticing. Then we fly from Scotland to Wales, at night, with a pissed off dragonet wondering where the hell his imprint has gone, to drop him off in Wales to say to your mate 'here you go, falsify your annual count, you got a surprise bonus this year.' Have I got that right?"

"Yup" came a slightly raggedy chorus of assent. 

"Fair enough. Flora, go grab the portkey; I'll tell Ron we'll be there the night after tomorrow. Chuck us an owl, Mitch, we're going dragon hunting like the drunken berks we are."


End file.
